


The Finding Sea

by angelichl



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Airplanes, First Kiss, First Love, Florida, Friends to Lovers, Light Angst, M/M, Pining, Porn Star Louis, Sharing a Bed, Skinny Dipping, Vacation, briefly mentioned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-12
Updated: 2018-06-12
Packaged: 2019-05-21 13:42:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14916428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelichl/pseuds/angelichl
Summary: They met at the ocean, in a way. It makes sense for them to fall in love at the ocean too.Harry is in love with his best friend. They go on vacation together.- Fort Myers, Florida. -





	The Finding Sea

 

 

♡

_ The universe has existed for billions of years and by chance we ended up living at the same time. That counts for something. _

♡

  
  
  
  


Louis doesn’t tell Harry he’s deathly afraid of flying before it’s too late.

 

They’re sitting by the window, overlooking the runway and watching the planes take their turns racing down the open space before lifting up and aiming for the vast expanse of pale blue sky, illuminated by the midafternoon winter sun. Harry finds it fascinating how humankind has progressed enough to send thousands of airplanes into the air on any given day.

 

Louis doesn’t agree. All day he has been quieter and antsier than he usually is, and in hindsight Harry should’ve noticed. They’re best friends so Harry usually notices everything. It must be the excitement of the upcoming vacation that has distracted him enough to not notice Louis’ complete change in demeanor. His lips are pressed in a thin line and he bounces his knee up and down incessantly.

 

As a general rule, Louis is a fidgety person who can never sit still. Part of it is his constant need for attention, but mostly he just has all of this pent up energy with nowhere for it to go. He’s always moving around, even when it’s so unbelievably annoying, Harry considers begging him to remain still.

 

This is different, though, because Louis’ restlessness has this nervous energy surrounding it, almost like he’s  _ afraid _  of something.

 

Again, in hindsight, Harry should’ve seen it coming. They’ve been best friends for years; how could Louis’ fear of flying never come up in conversation?

 

“Now boarding Flight 591 to Fort Myers, boarding group B.”

 

Louis stands so quickly he knocks over Harry’s luggage and hardly even apologizes. Harry assumes it’s just Louis being Louis and guides them over to the gate where boarding group B is lining up. Out of habit he presses his hand to the warmth of Louis’ shoulder to herd him to where they’re supposed to be. He has a habit of wandering away and getting lost, so Harry takes it upon himself to keep him in place.

 

They’re in the middle of the group, numbers twenty-seven and twenty-eight since they checked in together, so they have to wait for a moment longer before getting on the plane. The entire time, Louis will not stop moving. Harry squeezes him in an obnoxiously friendly hug from behind in an attempt to get him to stop.

 

Louis stills completely in his arms. It’s peculiar, how sometimes the only way to get him to stop fidgeting is to touch him. Perhaps it’s grounding, Harry thinks. But he isn’t really sure. What does he know?

 

“What are you doing?”

 

“Trying to get you to calm down.”

 

“I’m fine,” Louis grumbles, shoving Harry off him. The line starts moving and they hand over their phones for the worker to scan their boarding passes before allowing them through the gate. Harry has to actually grab Louis’ free hand to get him to stop moving so much, and that’s when he realizes he’s shaking. The tremble of his hand encased in Harry’s is barely noticable, but it’s definitely there.

 

“You shouldn’t have had so much coffee this morning,” he chastises, still not getting it. “We have a three hour flight and you’re gonna have to pee.”

 

Louis makes a snappy comment about not having had any coffee today, and that there’s a bathroom on the plane anyways. Harry rolls his eyes and drops his hand, walking behind him as they board the plane.

 

Still, the annoyance of Louis’ ridiculousness does nothing to dull the excitement that is currently making Harry jittery himself. He has the deep, inexplicable love of airports, perhaps because they signify one of his favorite things: traveling. And he has always felt comfortable in them, enjoying the calming atmosphere as people wait languidly yet excitedly for their planes to arrive.

 

But right now he doesn’t even care about the airport or the flight or any of that. What he cares about is the destination. A week at Fort Myers, Florida to spend spring break with his four best friends. Right now, nothing sounds better than that. His stomach is swirling with anticipation and overall happiness, and sometimes when he thinks about it enough, he has to bite back a smile.

 

They walk past rows and rows of seats already filled, looking for two that are next to each other. Harry doesn’t mind too much if they’re separated, because the flight isn’t even that long, but Louis is very adamant about finding two seats together.

 

They end up in the back, but with a window seat. Harry decides to be generous and let Louis sit there, because everyone likes the window seat, but is surprised when Louis shakes his head violently, stating  _ no _  with such certainty it’s startling.

 

“Um, okay…” he mutters, thinking  _ that’s weird, _  preoccupied with lifting his and Louis’ carry-ons into the overhead compartment. He slams it shut and then clambers over the stranger sitting on the aisle seat, a middle-aged lady who looks like she has a relatively sweet disposition. Harry apologizes profusely for accidentally stepping on her toes, as Louis slips past her and settles into the middle seat.

 

“Lou, seriously, are you alright?” Harry asks again, once they’re all settled. He looks over at his best friend, observing and attentive, trying to figure out what is wrong. Usually he can read him easily, no secrets between them, but right now he’s confused enough to not understand.

 

In the meantime, the rest of the passengers file into their seats, and the flight attendants walk down the aisle to make sure everyone has secured their seatbelts. Louis fiddles with his, tugging it tightly to the point where it must be uncomfortable, and then he struggles to loosen it a little bit. To alleviate the effort, Harry reaches over and untwists the fabric, loosening it easily with his hands which are much steadier than Louis’ trembling ones.

 

Louis bats his hands away, glaring at the floor and saying he’s fine.

 

“Why are you nervous?” he wonders out loud, eyes scanning the plane for any source of reason. Nothing is out of the ordinary, even as the pilot introduces himself over the speakers and then starts to drive the plane towards the runway. When they start moving, Harry glances out the window at the concrete rushing past, the smooth glide of the world around them looking like something from a movie or a dream.

 

When he looks back over at Louis, he sees his eyes are closed and his hands are clutching tightly onto the armrests, fingers wrapped around the edges, squeezing so hard the tips of them turn pale from lack of circulation.

 

And then it dawns on him, this great understanding of Louis’ plight:

 

He’s afraid of flying.

 

“Oh Lou,” Harry sighs quietly, angling his body in his seat so he’s facing him, allowing them to hopefully have a bit more privacy with this conversation right now. He doesn’t exactly know how to deal with this, and vaguely considers googling how to comfort someone who’s afraid of flying in planes, seeing as they’re on a plane right now. He wishes Louis would’ve told him, so he could’ve been more prepared.

 

Louis doesn’t respond other than sharply warning, “Don’t say anything.” He keeps his eyes closed and takes in steady, deep breaths like he’s trying to calm himself down.

 

Harry still can’t believe he somehow completely overlooked Louis’ apparent fear of flying.

 

Their flight is next in line for takeoff, and the pilot is maneuvering into position on the runway. Harry untangles his earbuds, turns on his music, and hands one to Louis. He accepts it without even opening his eyes.

 

As the plane starts gathering speed, racing forward, the nose just about to lift, Harry reaches over and pulls Louis’ hands into his own, squeezing them tightly.

  
  
  


♡

  
  
  


When the pilot announces that they’re flying at an altitude of 34,000 feet and it’s safe to take off their seatbelts, Louis finally opens his eyes. But he doesn’t let go of Harry’s hands.

 

“You good?” Harry asks, looking down at him and feeling this warm tingly sensation when he notices how big his hands are compared to Louis’. This is something he has known for years, of course, something he discovered a while back when Louis’ hands were cold and he demanded Harry warm them with his own. Still, it makes his stomach flip in this weird sort of way which really only means that Harry is in way, way too deep.

 

He swallows visibly and nods, closing his eyes again and readjusting the earbud in his ear. They’ve been listening to Lana del Rey this entire time, because Harry may have a slight obsession that Louis puts up with for the sake of being a good friend.

 

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

 

Of course, Harry already knows the answer to his own question. Louis isn’t a big fan of being vulnerable, and really, who is? But he has a habit of going out of his way in order to seem unaffected. It’s nice, sometimes, to be around someone who is so brave and confident, because it makes Harry feel cared for and protected, but at times like this it’s just vaguely saddening. He can’t help but think,  _ does he really not trust me enough to tell me he doesn’t like flying? _

 

“Because it’s not a big deal. I’m fine. Now shut up and stop moving so I can take a nap.”

 

Harry complies, because he’s pretty obedient where Louis is concerned. It’s kind of dangerous when he thinks about it, so he tries not to.

 

Louis somehow manages to fall asleep with his head on Harry’s shoulder, which is at the perfect height for him to lay his cheek comfortably. After a while, his arm starts to fall asleep, so he decides to reposition them, which is so much of a struggle that the lady sitting on the other side of Louis starts laughing at him.

 

“Here, let me help,” she offers through her quiet laughter, taking Harry’s hand and guiding his arm over Louis’ shoulder. It’s much more comfortable this way, so Harry thanks her, and pulls Louis a little closer to him, resting his cheek on the top of Louis’ head. His hair feels so soft beneath his skin, and it smells like the orange-scented shampoo he uses, which is perhaps one of Harry’s favorite scents ever.

 

With Louis nestled into his side, pulled close beneath Harry’s arm which wraps so comfortably around his shoulder, it feels so right. It’s a startingly thought to have for Harry who has been crushing on Louis for almost three years now.

 

Right. Three whole years of Harry being completely at Louis’ mercy, hanging onto his every word, willing to do anything for him if only he asked. It’s pathetic in a way, and Harry knows this—revels in it, in fact.

 

But he tries not to let it bother him. Louis is so unattainable, he’s on a whole different level from tragically pining Harry who is possibly in love with his best friend, that it doesn’t even matter. So it’s easy to move past his deep adoration for him because he knows nothing will ever come of it.

 

At least, it’s supposed to be easy.

 

He supposes he should probably try to date other people, because he hasn’t had a boyfriend since his semester of college freshman year. A few months after they broke up was when Harry met Louis, and ever since then he hasn’t had any interest in anyone else. Which is just great. The thing is that he doesn’t want to date anyone else, so what’s the point in even trying?

 

Harry has talked to a few guys but none of it has ever lasted. His fear of intimacy coupled with his pining for Louis makes it difficult for him to even rationalize getting close with another man.

 

Lately, he’s been talking to a persistent but sweet guy from his freshman year seminar course named Sebastian who for some reason has taken an interest in Harry. Seb texts him almost everyday and they converse about random topics that are amusing and lighthearted. He’s great at telling stories which Harry appreciates. They’ve been on four “dates” already and he can tell Seb really likes him, even though Harry doesn’t exactly understand why.

 

Nothing has gone wrong yet but Harry knows it’ll happen soon. It always does. Harry has been very careful to keep their relationship on a shallow level, but inevitably one day Sebastian will want something more and Harry won’t be able to give it to him. They’ll have a heart-to-heart in which they agree to stay “just friends,” which will be relieving to Harry but begrudging to Seb. And then they’ll never speak again, and whenever Harry will think of him, he’ll cringe.

 

It’s happened before.

 

Realizing his thoughts of dating are killing his excitement, Harry pulls Louis a little closer to distract himself and decides to think of something else.

 

He has an entire week in Florida ahead of him, so he focuses on that. Liam, Niall, and Zayn are picking them up from RSW, and from there they’ll drive thirty minutes to their Castle Beach vacation rental, which the five of them paid for together. It’s definitely on the pricier side, especially given their budget as college students. Still, between the five of them it isn’t that bad, and it’s cool to have a nice play to stay.

 

Truthfully, he’s excited for a week of relaxation in the sun. It kind of sucks being so close to Louis all the time, because as much as he loves spending time with him, it keeps his mind focused on what he can’t have, and it hurts. But maybe if he remains a little more detached than usual, he’ll be able to get through the week without breaking his heart even more.

 

It’s hopeful thinking, but Harry will be damned if he doesn’t try.

  
  
  


♡

  
  
  


Landing, apparently, is just as frightening as taking off.

 

Louis wakes up when the pilot’s voice sounds out over the intercom, reminding everyone to secure their seatbelts. Harry nonchalantly removes his arm from around his shoulder and hopes he doesn’t notice. As soon as he realizes they’re descending, Louis turns rigid and grasps Harry’s hands so tightly, he fears his fingers will fall off.

 

But then they’ve touched down and it’s over, and Louis is still clinging onto him with a grip like a vice.

 

“You did it,” Harry congratulates weakly, struggling to pry his hands free before his palms begin to sweat. When he finally detaches himself, Louis begins trembling again. It’s so slight but it’s there. It makes Harry want to smother him in a hug to take all the fear away.

 

Rubbing at his eyes a bit too harshly, Louis ignores him. “I’m fucking hungry,” he announces, not watching his language even when a couple people turn around to glare at him.

 

Harry feels his cheeks heat up in embarrassment, but he resists the urge to apologize. It seems he always has an apology on the tip of his tongue, ready to spill out at a moment’s notice. Louis always complains he says  _ sorry _  too much.

 

“I think Liam and Zayn are cooking for us,” he says instead, still feeling self conscious for some ungodly reason, as they wait for the passengers in front of them to file out. “So we should probably wait to eat until we get settled in.”

 

Louis isn’t having any of it. Harry can tell he’s still shaken up from experiencing one of his greatest fears, but he’s still actively trying to cover it up and play it cool. “I’m hungry right  _ now, _  though.”

 

Harry doesn’t respond. He gets their bags down from the compartment and almost drops Louis’ on his head in the process. Louis just laughs at him but doesn’t offer to help.

 

As soon as they’re off the plane and walking past the gates, towards baggage claim, Harry notices Louis beginning to morph back to his usual self. He’s actually smiling now, and poking fun at Harry, which as annoying as it may be, is still endearing and a good sign. Harry actually breathes a sigh of relief when Louis bursts out laughing at him when he drops his carry-on and the contents spill everywhere.

 

“Honestly, Haz, you’re a disaster,” Louis remarks, standing above Harry as he struggles to gather his belongings and jam them haphazardly back into his bag. Harry’s cheeks are ablaze with shame as passerbys have to skirt around him in order to avoid the mess. “It’s embarrassing.”

 

“Shut up, you could at least help me.” After Harry says this, he pauses in his recollection of his possessions to look up at Louis, wondering how the hell he got into this position: on his hands and knees, fixing his mess caused by his clumsiness, as Louis stands about him with his arms crossed, jaw pulled taught with impatience. And like… it’s a lot. He can feel his skin heating up almost as if someone lit a bonfire inside him, his body’s strange reaction to this even stranger situation.

 

He’s desperately trying not to let his mind travel  _ there,  _ but it is, without his consent, so he quickly gathers the rest of his things and jams them into his bag before standing up in as little time as possible.

 

Louis sighs like he’s disappointed in Harry, but there’s laughter buried beneath it so Harry tries not to let it bother him too much. They head through the airport, picking up their suitcases from baggage claim. They also end up stopping at a cafe to get food, because as much as Harry ardently tries, he can never really say no to Louis.

 

Louis is his weakness, that’s the thing. It’s not that Harry is a pushover, but that he’s a pushover  _ for Louis, _  and only Louis.

 

Now calmed down and sated, both happy to be off the plane and happy to have a full tummy, Louis is more relaxed and much less antsy. He walks in step with Harry and makes excited, energetic conversation about a million different things all at once. Mostly, Harry just listens, and gives him the space he needs to release the pent up energy that is almost always there.

 

They wheel their bags outside, to the drive where cars wait idle to pick up passengers. When Harry called to say they landed, Liam said they were caught in traffic so it would take a bit more time than anticipated.

  
Harry figures it’s fine, though, that he doesn’t mind waiting, especially in weather this beautiful. The moment they step outside from the air-conditioned building, the pleasantly warm Florida air envelopes them and it feels like heaven. Harry guides them down the sidewalk, out from underneath the awning, towards the sunshine.

 

The landscaping is beautiful, with enormous and gorgeous flowers that would never grow in Ohio. Not that he doesn’t like Ohio, but it’s irrefutably enjoyable to spend a March vacation in Florida, effectively escaping the depressing winter weather of the Midwest.

 

Louis stops abruptly and unceremoniously collapses the handle on his suitcase with a snap. He plops to the ground and sits cross-legged right on the sidewalk, leaning back on his palms and soaking up the sun. He closes his eyes like a cat, and that’s when Harry has the opportunity to admire him freely, so he takes it. Because why wouldn’t he?

 

His skin is already tan, because it’s  _ perpetually _  tan, but Harry would be lying if he said he wasn’t excited to see him after a few days in the sun. He  _ glows, _  okay? It’s an ethereal experience.

 

Also, no one pulls off the athleisure look like Louis does. Athletic clothes make most people look sloppy, like Harry for example. When he wears hoodies and sweatpants, he looks like he hasn’t showered in days.

 

Louis, on the other hand, looks like he walked right off the cover of GQ, as always. He’s wearing Adidas joggers with the white stripes down the sides, and a gray oversized hoodie that swallows him with sleeves that cover his hands completely.

 

It’s tragic, because Harry can’t stop looking. And he’s basically ogling his best friend who is completely out of his league and completely off-limits, anyways. Right. It’s definitely tragic. The tragedy is the unrequited not-love.

 

Harry thinks of it as not-love because if he thought of it as love, he would probably die from heartbreak. If he looked deep enough into his heart, he assumes he would find an endless vat of sugary, syrupy, bleeding love for Louis. So he doesn’t look deep enough to see that. The goal is to be pointedly oblivious. He’ll admit his crush to himself, but that’s the extent of that. He doesn’t let the term love cross his mind, because if he  _ did _  think about it, he would never  _ stop _  thinking about it.

 

So he stands as Louis lounges, and he admires the Florida sun on his skin, and they way it illuminates his stupidly long eyelashes which flutter when he opens his eyes, and yep, Harry is caught.

 

“You’re always staring at me.”

  
It’s a blunt statement of fact that Harry is helpless to deny. He rolls his eyes like Louis is just egocentric or something, for thinking that Harry is always looking at him. Even though it’s the truth.

 

Luckily, he’s saved by Liam calling him, probably to say he has arrived. Harry answers the phone and scans the line of cars until he finds the rental Liam has described. Then he starts wheeling his suitcase away without a word, knowing Louis will follow eventually.

 

They throw their bags in the trunk and then slide into the backseat, greeting Zayn and Liam. Immediately, conversation explodes and they chatter nonstop throughout the half-hour drive to the vacation rental. At one point, Harry falls out of the conversation in favor of staring out the window.

 

Florida has awful traffic, and the roads are crowded with bad drivers. Liam is an expectedly calm driver, though, and he carts them around like a champ. If Harry were driving, he’d be swearing up a storm. So it’s for the best that he’s sitting in the backseat, enjoying the view of palm trees in the sun.

 

They drive past gorgeously modern beach houses three stories tall facing the water. The walls are smooth, the windows are large, and the gardens are impeccable. Liam says the area is called Bonita Beach, and his grandparents have a house a little bit further down the road.

 

Almost to their destination, they cross a bridge over the river with fishermen standing on the sides of the road, their lines falling far below into the shining blue water. Cars are rushing past them and it doesn’t seem very peaceful. He wonders how often they catch something, and what the fish think of being reeled in so high above the river. The bridge must be at least seventy feet tall.

 

Approaching Castle Beach makes Harry feel like a kid again, with excitement thrumming through him. Liam parks in the spot assigned to him, which is conveniently close to the outdoor stairs that lead up to their rental on the fourth floor, which promises a nice view of the beach. They gather their bags and start heading up. Harry stops on the platform midway through the stairwell in order to look out over the street and the pool, which looks particularly tempting.

 

The condo is nicer than any of them expected. Immediately, the view leaves Harry breathless. He stares out the sliding glass doors at the end of the living room with his mouth wide open in shock. He had expected a beach view but not like this.

 

The beach is large and expansive, with white sand stretching for at least a hundred yards. Beyond it, the Gulf: blue water sparkling in late afternoon sun.

 

“Sick,” Louis comments from beside him, looking at the same thing Harry is looking at. They stand there for a moment, just taking it all in.

 

Behind them, the others are inspecting the apartment and announcing their findings: “There’s beer in the fridge!” “The shower curtain has turtles and starfish on it!” “The bed sheets in this room are hot pink!”

 

Harry turns around and finds the three of them fighting over rooms and beds. Eventually Liam and Zayn win and get the master bedroom with the king-sized bed to share. It makes sense, since they’re the only couple.

 

“What does that leave us with?” Louis mutters, leaving his bag in the middle of the living room and following the sound of Niall to the other bedroom. Harry trails behind him and squints his eyes at the sight: two twin-sized beds with hot pink sheets and colorful quilts over top. There’s a window that overlooks the pool and the road above one of the beds.

 

Niall immediately flings himself on the other bed not near the window and collapses like a starfish, limbs out. “This one’s mine,” he declares with finality

 

Harry and Louis look at the empty bed and then at each other. Harry motions him forward, towards it.

 

Louis shakes his head. “I’m not making you sleep on the couch, Hazza. Your back.”

 

“It’s fine, Lou.”

 

He’s right, though; Harry has had back problems for as long as he can remember, and sleeping anywhere that isn’t a mattress is one of the easiest ways to exacerbate the problem.

 

Louis knows this, and apparently he cares enough to force Harry to take the bed. He narrows his eyes at Harry before shoving him forward. Harry matches him easily and tries to shove him forward towards the bed as well. This is how they end up wrestling in the middle of the room as Niall laughs at them from his spot on his own unproblematic bed.

 

Harry manages to get a hand around Louis’ wrist and he tightens his grip, successfully dragging him to the bed. Louis flails and tries to break free. In the process, he accidentally elbows Harry in the nose so hard he sees stars.

 

“Ow, fuck.” He squeezes his eyes shut and when he opens them again he sees Louis right in front of him, staring up at him worriedly with his big blue eyes. Harry feels dizzy all over again.

 

“Oh shit, sorry. Fuck.” He reaches forward and presses his hand beneath Harry’s nose. It takes Harry a long while to realize he’s trying to catch the blood that’s pouring out. “Sit down, let me go get a towel.”

 

Harry sits down on the ground instead of the bed because he’s still not willing to accept it. He knows how much Louis doesn’t want to sleep on the couch so he thinks it’ll work. Louis glares at him and hooks his hands beneath his armpits to heave him up on the mattress. This time, Harry doesn’t fight as much. He’s too preoccupied with his weeping, bloody nose.

 

“I can’t believe you just punched me in the face,” Harry grumbles when Louis returns with a towel and presses it to his face.

 

“I’m sorry, sheesh. And I didn’t punch you.”

 

“I’m gonna have a black eye for the entirety of our vacation.”

 

“You are not, H, don’t be dramatic.”

 

“I will.”

 

“Whatever. I’m sorry. As my apology I’m giving you the bed.”

 

“No. Nope.”

 

“You’re so annoying. Why won’t you just take the bed?”

 

Louis knows Harry is the kind of person who needs to make sure everyone else is comfortable before himself. He’s a big sacrificer because it makes him uncomfortable when he’s in a better situation than other people. Louis knows this and he still doesn’t care.

 

They’re both so stubborn, to the point where it’s ridiculous.

 

Perhaps that’s how they end up sharing the bed.

  
  
  


♡

  
  
  


They order pizza and eat it on the balcony overlooking the sea. There’s a lot of chatter but Harry stays quiet, listening to the sound of the ocean waves pressing up against the shore in a constant lull. The sun slowly drops, setting the sky in a watercolor of brilliant hues, beautiful enough to belong in a museum.

 

Afterwards, they decide to take a walk on the beach just to check it out, to see where they’re staying for a week, and to stick their toes in the water. Neither Harry nor Louis change out of the clothes they traveled in, which they realize is a mistake as soon as they get close to the water, because they have to roll up their pants in order to avoid getting them wet.

 

Regardless, the sand feels amazing beneath Harry’s feet. He inhales deeply, taking in a heavy breath of the warm Florida air which smells of salt and sand. His nose still really hurts from Louis’ elbow, so it’s difficult to inhale but he does his best. Everytime Louis looks over at him, this apologetic look sets on his face and that’s how Harry knows the damage is bad. He wouldn’t look guilty otherwise.

 

“I feel so bad,” Louis begins, coming up behind Harry and rubbing a small hand up his back, against his shoulder and keeping it there. “You look like a clown.”

 

“Thanks,” Harry responds sarcastically, feeling self-conscious enough to cup his nose with his palm, shielding it from public view.

 

“I mean, I guess it kind of makes you look a little bit badass. Like a street fighter or something. Maybe. If you squint and only glance for a second.”

 

Harry gives Louis his best unimpressed look before landing his eyes back on the sunset. It’s so beautiful right now, he stops abruptly and pulls out his phone to take a few pictures. Louis doesn’t notice and runs straight into his back. He complains petulantly but Harry ignores him.

 

They walk a while further down the beach, passing condos, houses, and hotels. The hotels are the busiest and most crowded, with the entire property covered in lounge chairs and umbrellas. When Harry sees this he feels relieved they splurged on a place that’s more secluded; large crowds give him anxiety which is the last thing he wants while on a relaxing Florida vacation.

 

The rest of the night is quiet and calm. None of them go out because they’re all tired, from traveling or whatever else they were doing that day. Harry’s legs feel like lead when he scales the four flights of stairs up to the condo, and by the time he gets there, all he wants is to take a hot shower and fall into bed.

 

Louis has other plans. He wants to drink but not alone so he makes Harry sit on the balcony with him to have a beer. They listen to the night sounds of the ocean and talk about stupid shit, because Louis is mostly incapable of ever being serious.

 

Then, when Harry stands up with his empty bottle in hand and says he’s going to take a shower, Louis bolts in front of him and races him to the bathroom. He makes it there first, gloating childishly before slamming the door shut. Harry is so in shock, he stands in front of the closed door for a long while, listening as the shower turns on and the sound of water pouring against the tub reaches his ears.

 

When it finally sinks in that Louis isn’t joking, and he really  _ is _  going to take a shower right now just for the sake of annoying Harry, he hits his forehead against the door and groans. “You’re so fucking annoying.”

 

Louis’ laughter rings clear.

  
  
  


♡

  
  
  


After Harry is out of the shower, an entire hour later than he originally planned due to Louis being an asshole, he steps into the bedroom with just a towel around his waist.

 

Niall is in bed already, dressed comfortably in a hoodie, with the colorful duvet pulled up to his waist. There’s a book held loosely between his hands, titled  _ Golf is a Game of Confidence, _  and it appears he’s about a third of the way through it.

 

Harry shuffles over to his suitcase and wonders where Louis is. The bed is empty and still made neatly. Deciding on pajama shorts and a loose t-shirt, Harry gets dressed right there. The only protest he receives is from Niall who wordlessly flings a balled up sock at his head. Harry flips him the bird without turning around.

 

Before getting in bed, he squeezes his hair with his towel so it won’t drip everywhere. Having long hair is kind of annoying, because it requires more maintenance, but he generally enjoys it; he likes how it looks and feels. Besides, since he’s been growing it out, he’s become quite attached to it, to the point where he can’t imagine cutting it. His mum and stepdad are always giving him grief about it, whenever he goes to visit, but he takes it in stride.

 

Besides, Louis likes it. That’s reason enough for Harry not to cut it. He has only said it once, one night when they were both a bit too tipsy on raspberry margaritas which happened to be the special at the restaurant they were eating at for their friend’s birthday. Harry had dropped a chip covered in guac which somehow managed to get in his hair, and was in the process of wiping it out when Louis took pity on him and helped him.

 

“You’re ridiculous,” he had said, tugging Harry closer by his curls and working the guacamole out with a napkin.

 

“Do you have any scissors?” Harry remembers asking genuinely. He had been ready to cut his hair off right then and there, no mirror or professional necessary.

 

“You’re ridiculous,” Louis had repeated, finally getting the rest of the mess out of his hair after dousing the napkin with water.

 

In hindsight, Harry knows he looked absolutely atrocious right then. His hair was soggy and tangled, straight where the water weighed it down but frizzy everywhere else. His cheeks were splotchy and heated from the alcohol and the close proximity to Louis. He was sweating due to the hot summer night and the fact that Louis was so near to him, which made him nervous.

 

Louis had pulled away enough to get a good look at him, yet keeping his hand in Harry’s hair. He carded his fingers through some of the tangles and scratched at Harry’s scalp ever so slightly with his nails. It felt heavenly.

 

“I like your hair like this. It’s cute.”

 

That’s it. That’s all he said. But it was enough to send Harry’s heart skyrocketing to another dimension, enough even to be the thing Harry thinks about right before he falls asleep every night without fail.

 

Louis meant it in a friendly or even brotherly way but that doesn't mean Harry still doesn’t think about it and blush. It’s the perfect representation of how bad he has it for Louis, seeing as a simple compliment uttered after too many margaritas is enough to make his heart flutter stupidly, like a pet butterfly stuck inside a cage, too dumb to escape even when the lid is open.

 

If Harry were to ask Louis about this now, he’s sure Louis would have no recollection of saying such a thing. In fact, he says shit like that to almost everyone he meets on a daily basis, and it is nothing special to him at all. Harry really shouldn’t obsess over it but he can’t help it.

 

So Harry slides into bed, pushing himself against the far side so Louis has room to slip in beside him. He still can’t believe they’re going to be sharing a twin-sized bed, and just the thought of being so close to Louis makes Harry’s stomach churn with anxiety. He lies flat on his back, pulls the duvet up to his chin, closes his eyes, and tries his hardest to relax.

 

Louis enters the room perhaps ten minutes later, wearing pajama pants and nothing else. He makes fun of Niall for reading a book about golf as he rummages through his bag. Eventually he pulls out his phone charger and plugs it into the outlet right above Harry’s.

 

This reminds Harry to check his phone too, so he does, seeing four new messages from Sebastian. Not really in the mood to start one of their habitual and lengthy nighttime text conversations, he opens the messages reluctantly. He reads them quickly to find Seb telling a funny story from his day at work, and the crazy customer who came demanding someone listen to his sage life advice.

 

Harry is a little amused but not enough to laugh out loud. He never really knows how to respond when Sebastian sends him messages like this, and he feels like he’s always recycling the same few responses:  _ wow what an experience _  or  _ haha sounds wild _  or  _ that’s iconic.  _ He ends up sending  _ wow what an experience _  anyways and feels guilty when Seb’s typing bubble pops up right away.

 

Meanwhile, Louis locks his phone and approaches the bed, not getting in just yet.

 

“Are you waking up early tomorrow?”

 

Harry sets his phone down, glad for the distraction. Maybe he can pretend to fall asleep and then he won’t have to answer Seb.

 

“Yeah. I think I’m gonna go running.”

 

Louis nods, pulling the sheets back. “If you wake me up at any ungodly hour, I’ll skin you alive.”

 

“Noted.” Harry checks his phone again to find two new messages. He feels bad for his plans to ignore Seb so he responds instead.

 

“Ooh, talking to your boyfriend?”

 

Harry blushes, like a middle schooler would when asked the same question. Not because he has feelings for Seb but because the thought of being in a real relationship with anyone makes him squirm. “He’s not my boyfriend.”

 

Louis laughs, slipping in between the sheets and getting comfortable. They have to share a pillow, which means their faces are very close together. In fact, everything is close together. Harry moves a little and his knee bumps into Louis’ shin by accident. “Hazza, you’ve been on like a million dates with him, and you talk to him every night. You text each other hearts before you go to sleep. He’s definitely your boyfriend.”

 

“No he’s not,” Harry argues, throwing his phone to the duvet and covering his face in his hands, embarrassed. It’s not like he can’t see it, but also they haven’t advanced to anything more than a close friendship. They’ve held hands once, and it was insanely awkward, for Harry at least.

 

“Well, I can assure you he thinks so.”

 

Harry groans. “I don’t like him, though.” He can’t believe they’re having this conversation when they’re lying together in very close proximity. Louis is near enough that Harry can smell the cigarette smoke on him which explains where he just was before entering the room: on the balcony with Zayn, smoking together. Harry has always hated the smell but for some reason it isn’t so bad on Louis. In fact, it’s familiar. Almost comforting.

 

“What? What do you mean you don’t like him?”

 

“I just want to be friends.”

 

“Then why are you… Why do you send him good night texts with hearts?”

 

He keeps his hands over his eyes and presses down. Hard. He has always felt guilty about that, and Louis calling him out for it only makes it worse. “Because,” he groans, suffering, “he always sends me them first and I can’t just not add a heart… It would be so mean.”

 

Louis sighs exaggeratedly, but from the way the bed shakes a little, Harry can tell he’s laughing and failing to contain it. “You’re too nice, Hazza. Really. Of course you would be the one to be in a relationship because you’re too afraid to say no.”

 

“I know. It’s awful.”

 

“Alright, I’ll stop bugging you about it.”

 

The bed shifts and when Harry opens his eyes he finds Louis lying on his side, facing Harry. It is a sight Harry never thought he would see. Because it’s so incredibly  _ intimate, _  it makes panic bloom in his chest. He can’t stop his mind from picturing this scene but in different context, perhaps waking up with Louis the morning after and getting to witness his sleepy softness. The panic gets worse and Harry closes his eyes again to quell it. If he thinks about it long enough, his heart will do nothing but  _ want, _  and then he’ll suffer even more in momentous unrequited not-love.

 

“I have a funny story to tell you,” Louis whispers, quiet enough now that Niall probably won’t be able to hear. Suddenly it feels very private and personal.

 

Harry’s neck hurts from having it bent at an odd angle so he matches Louis’ position and turns on his side. Now they’re both facing each other, too close for Harry to relax, and he doesn’t know where to put his hands so he settles for pulling them close to his chest. Louis doesn’t seem to be nearly as distressed as Harry. In fact he doesn’t seem to notice at all.

 

“Actually it’s not really a story. Just that some guy recognized me in the bathroom at the airport, is all.”

 

And, right. This perhaps was important to mention earlier, but sometimes Harry forgets that Louis works in the porn industry.

 

It started as a quick way to make cash when he was too busy to get a more traditional job during his first year of college. A friend approached him with an offer he couldn’t refuse, and Louis has never really been shy about his sexuality so that wasn’t really a hindrance at all. He made one video and instantly hundreds of strangers had fallen in love and were begging for more. The only logical option was to give them exactly what they wanted.

 

So he’s been doing it for about three years. Louis is very open about it so it’s not like it’s a secret, but he tells Harry all about it in the kind of detail most people don’t get to hear. Harry is both repelled and intrigued.

 

It’s something he generally tries not to think about. The fact that there are dozens of videos of his best friend and long-time crush doing sexual things, scattered all over the internet, makes Harry uneasy. Louis always jokes about it, asking if Harry has ever looked him up on a porn website or something, laughing when Harry nearly has a heart attack at just the thought of doing something like that. The worst thing is, it would be so easy.

 

In the present, Harry’s heart flips again. He sometimes wonders what it would be like to be a porn star, because there’s always the possibility of someone recognizing you. Which is something Louis experiences regularly. “Oh, that’s interesting. Was he weird?”

 

“Nah, he was really sweet and polite. He was like, ‘You look familiar.’ Then he asked if my name was Louis. And I was like, ‘Yes, how are you?’ So he asked for my autograph.”

 

“Huh.” That seems like a surprisingly normal interaction considering the stranger has watched videos of Louis having sex. “Was he old?”

 

“In his forties, maybe. But like, really hot.”

 

“Oh. Nice.” Harry also generally tries to forget that Louis not only has been intimate with a large amount of men, but also men who are a lot older than him. Of course, he gets paid for it, but still.

 

“You should make videos,” Louis comments very matter-of-factly. He reaches across the short distance between their bodies and pats Harry’s cheek in a friendly but vaguely patronizing manner. “People would love you.”

 

Right. As if Harry has ever kissed anyone, let alone slept with someone. As if Harry would have sex on camera. As if.

 

And yeah, there it is. The ugly truth that Harry has never in his twenty-one years of life pressed his lips against someone else’s lips. It’s one thing to be a virgin at twenty-one, which is sad in itself, but never kissing someone? He feels like the oldest person on earth to never have kissed or been kissed.

 

It’s a secret, too. No one knows. Harry tries not to be embarrassed but sometimes the shame creeps up on him. One time he googled it and found out that the average age to have a first kiss is fourteen years old. That means he’s seven years behind the curve and counting. By this point he’s actually kind of afraid to kiss someone because he has absolutely no idea what he’s doing and what if he does something wrong? What if it’s bad?

 

That would be absolutely mortifying, so he avoids the situation all together. Perhaps that’s not the best way to live but his anxiety won’t allow him to live any other way. Besides, the default at age twenty-one is already having been kissed, so people just assume that’s the case with Harry and they don’t question him.

 

The same goes for his virginity. All of his friends have had sex and even do it on the regular. Louis is a porn star, for god’s sake. No one questions Harry because they just assume he’s done it with at least one of his boyfriends in the past.

 

That’s the other thing: Harry dates people for as long as he can before they start to expect some sort of physical aspect of the relationship. Going on four dates, and talking every night for months, probably warrants more than an uncomfortable ten minutes of awkward hand-holding. Yet he can’t bring himself to even lean forward and just kiss the guy on the cheek.

 

“Haha, yeah,” Harry forces a very disjointed-sounding laugh, hoping to play it cool in the face of adversity. The adversity being Louis insinuating Harry should star in a porno.

 

Louis looks at him oddly, and that’s how he knows he failed. His gaze is a little too observant and it’s making Harry uneasy. His eyes narrow and he stares at Harry for a long, long while, making him squirm.

 

“Harry…” He begins slowly, and at that moment Harry knows he’s done for, he can see the recognition in Louis’ eyes and he knows it’s over.

 

“...Yes..?” He responds in a downtrodden but sadly hopeful voice.

 

“Harry. Have you really never… Wow. Have you really never had sex before?”

 

He’s glad his hands are pulled awkwardly to his chest because it makes it easier to slide them up and cover his face in shame. He keeps them there, refusing to remove them even when Louis tugs gently on his wrists.

 

“How did you know?” He groans, quietly, hoping Niall can’t hear. He’s only a few feet away but he’s either still reading about golf or he’s fallen asleep.

 

“You’ve just got that look on your face,” Louis tells him gently. “Not that it’s a bad thing, just. I didn’t know. Why didn’t you tell me?”

 

Harry is seconds away from hyperventilating. The day is too much. First, Louis falling asleep on his shoulder during the plane ride to Fort Myers. Next, sharing a goddamn bed with him. And now a conversation about his virginity. He takes a slow, deep breath like he learned in yoga and traps the air in his lungs until he can’t anymore, before releasing it all in one lengthy exhale.

 

His voice is all too shrill. “Because it’s embarrassing? And, like, personal…”

 

Louis tugs on his wrists again and Harry pulls his hands away from his face shyly.

 

“I tell you embarrassing shit all the time,” Louis pouts. “Like that one time that guy kept licking my armpit. Or when I got kicked out of that bar after getting caught sucking dick in the break room. But you’ve been holding out on me!”

 

“Yeah, because this is different. Your embarrassing moments happen during sexual escapades but my embarrassing moment is that I’ve never  _ had _  a sexual escapade.” Oh god. Saying it out loud makes it so much worse.

 

“Maybe your problem is that you refer to them as ‘sexual escapades.’”

 

“Shut up.”

 

“Wait, but I’m confused. You’ve dated your fair share of guys, and like, long enough for fucking to be a totally normal and okay thing. So why haven’t you?”

 

Harry prays for a sinkhole to open up on his side of the bed and swallow him whole. It doesn’t happen, so he has no choice but to respond. The idea is to be as honest as possible while retaining as much dignity as possible.

 

“It’s not that I’ve never had the opportunity to um, you know… It’s just that it kind of freaks me out.”

 

“Sex freaks you out? Remind me how we’re friends again? Because last time I checked, I’m a porn star. And you’re a virgin, apparently, who has definitely listened to my stories which almost always include very graphic details.”

 

Harry laughs at that, even though it makes him feel pathetic. “Yeah, sounds about right.”

 

“Do you think maybe you’re asexual?”

 

Of course Louis would be the one trying to mend things to make Harry feel better. Such a good friend, understanding and empathetic. Harry blushes, both at the attention and the notions of what Louis is saying and what he himself is about to say. “No, I don’t think so, I mean, I’ve definitely… I’ve definitely- Yeah. I’m just shy. Which makes me feel awkward. Which then makes me feel unsexy.”

 

“Aww, H, don’t put yourself down. Any guy would be lucky to have you.”   
  
There’s a silence where Harry doesn’t know what to say. Again it seems as though Louis is unbothered by it.

 

“Well if you ever need advice, I’m here, kiddo.”

 

_ Kiddo.  _ Louis loves to pull that one on him. It’s a joking reminder that he’s the older one but it makes Harry feel small. Childish, even. Louis says it in a friendly, affectionate way and usually he doesn’t mind but sometimes it feels a little patronizing even if that isn’t the intention.

 

He can’t help but grimace. “Thanks.”

  
Louis motions to Harry’s phone which is lying on the empty space of mattress between them. “Are you ignoring your boyfriend?”

 

“He’s not my boyfriend.”

 

“Sorry. Are you ignoring your boy-friend? Your friend, who is a boy?”

 

“Shut up. And no, I’m not ignoring him.”

 

“Then why haven’t you answered him yet? He seems eager to talk to you.”

 

Harry frowns at the pejorative tone of Louis’ voice and the way that it almost sounds dismissive. If he knew any better he would say Louis is slightly jealous. Not that that would ever happen in this universe, but still. Louis has never really liked Sebastian.

 

“Sometimes it’s exhausting talking to him,” Harry admits. He feels bad about saying it out loud, mostly because he hopes people don’t say stuff like that about him. He imagines Seb complaining to his friends about how annoying Harry is, and it makes him feel icky inside. Seb is nice but even the nicest people can make mean comments.

 

“Then why do you talk to him?”

 

There are a lot of answers for Louis’ question but Harry struggles for one he can actually say out loud. His mind is swirling with ugly truths like  _ I’m using him to get over you _  and  _ I’m afraid he’s my only chance at someone loving me. _

 

Eventually, he settles on, “He’s nice.”

 

“Just nice?”

 

“What,” Harry glares, “is that not enough? That’s a bit shallow of you, Lewis.”

 

Louis rolls his eyes in return, his fingers fiddling with the sheets between them. “I mean, it’s not my place, but… If nice is the only adjective you can think of to describe him…”

 

“Oh please,” Harry scoffs, feeling offended and insecure and much too close to the not-love of his life for any of his thoughts to make sense. “Sorry we can’t all be perfect like you.”

 

“You know that’s not what I’m saying.”

 

“I don’t care. Please stop talking—you’ve made me sad.”

 

“Hazza,” Louis whines, “I didn’t mean to make you sad…”

 

Harry avoids his eyes and flips over so he’s lying on his stomach. This is usually the position in which he sleeps, but he prefers to have an extra pillow between his arms so he can hug something in his sleep. There aren’t any extra pillows so he supposes he’ll have to deal with the vacant emptiness between his arms instead.

 

There’s a quiet moment, aside from Niall’s gentle breathing. That answers that question: he’s definitely asleep then.

 

Louis sighs audibly before shuffling around a bit. The light flicks off and the room is plunged into darkness. Harry can hear the sound of cars passing on the road outside, not necessarily unpleasant, just different. He regrets not opening the screen door in the living room which leads to the balcony. It would be nice to hear the waves.

 

They’re both still for a moment, but obviously awake. It’s been nearly a half hour of lying together and Harry still can’t believe they’re sharing a tiny bed. He squeezes his eyes shut tightly when he feels a small hand on his shoulder.

 

“I’m sorry, H.”

 

He rubs his hand back and forth very gently, his palm and fingers smoothing out the material of Harry’s t-shirt.

 

It’s fine, Harry thinks, so he says it out loud: “It’s fine.” But not really.

 

Louis’ hand pauses there for a moment, warmth seeping from him to Harry. It’s strangely comforting, erupting a whole new world of sensations that blossom from the spot of contact on Harry’s shoulder all throughout his body. A simple touch and every single nerve that comprises his being is tingling.

 

There’s another quiet sigh behind him again and the touch falls away. The minute it’s gone, Harry feels cold and empty, like he lost something important. He begins to wonder what would’ve happened if maybe he had said something more than a passive-aggressive  _ it’s fine. _  He probably could still say something, but it feels as though the moment is gone. The sheets rustle as Louis gets comfortable and then all falls silent.

 

So maybe Harry is too sensitive, but he can’t help it. He wishes circumstances were different. He wishes  _ he _  were different. Everything would be easier if his sneaking fear of intimacy just vanished into thin air. Everything would be perfect if he could just get over this stupid fucking crush on his best friend.

 

What would Louis think if he found out Harry has never even kissed anyone? He would probably lose it, to be honest. He would laugh so hard, he’d fall right off the bed.

 

So Harry vows he won’t find out.

  
  
  


♡

  
  
  


The morning alarm set on Harry’s phone manages to wake all three of them, even though Harry is the only intended target.

 

Louis actually manages to land a weak punch to Harry’s stomach in retaliation for being woken at ten ‘til six, before the sun is fully even up. Niall just moans like a ghost until Harry shuts the alarm off and slips out of bed, careful not t jostle Louis too much.

 

It’s too dark in the room to see much of anything, which is probably a blessing in disguise. Harry would love to see what Louis looks like when he’s grumbling about being awake at the crack of dawn, if he rubs his eyes sleepily or snuggles further into the mess of sheets. His heart probably wouldn’t be able to stand the sight, so Harry dresses in his running clothes and leaves the room with only one futile glance over his shoulder.

 

The condo is still and quiet in the early morning, illuminated by a dull silver light filtering in through the windows. Harry laces up his shoes and then heads outside, taking his time down the stairs because they’re slippery with dew and he’s afraid he might fall. By the time he’s down in the parking lot, the sun is just barely peeking over the horizon, lighting the world aflame with gold.

 

Harry walks over to the edge of the pavement and begins running as soon as the soles of his shoes hit the sand.

 

His love for running runs deep; it has served as a way to sort out the mess in his mind ever since he began the habit in high school. There’s something about running, perhaps its methodical procedure or even just the simple practice of spending time alone in the great outdoors, that has always drawn him in. The added benefit is that it keeps him in shape.

 

He hasn’t run on the beach in a long while, and he’s forgotten how much more difficult the sand makes the simple motion of propelling himself forward. Still, it’s a new challenge, and one he takes with stride. He runs down the beach for four and a half miles before turning around to head back.

 

By the time he’s finished with nine sandy miles, the sun is already up and more and more people are emerging from their beach houses to enjoy the beautiful morning. On his way back, Harry says a breathless  _ good morning! _  to everyone he passes, and feels his heart warm with every returning smile he receives.

 

When he gets back to the fourth-floor apartment, he starts a pot of coffee before hopping in the shower. By the time he gets out, the coffee is ready, so he pours himself a cup and decides to enjoy it on one of the comfy chairs on the balcony, looking out at the early morning waves of the ocean.

 

“Good run?”

 

Harry is so startled by the sound of someone behind him unexpectedly, he manages to spill his entire mug of coffee all over his lap, hissing when it begins to burn his skin. He jumps up, howling into his closed fist so he won’t wake anyone up. Tears prickle in his eyes before he can stop them.

 

“Shit, I am so sorry,” Liam says, rushing forward and taking the empty mug out of Harry’s hands.

 

“Fuck, Liam, you scared me!” He hisses, peeling his saturated t-shirt away from his skin so the scalding coffee drips on the floor instead.

 

Liam comes back with a towel and helps him clean up. When all the coffee is gone and the towel is in the washing machine, the two of them sigh in relief and decide to sit together on the balcony, Harry drinking water this time.

 

“So you two shared a bed last night,” Liam begins eventually, starting a new thread of conversation.

 

Harry remains stoically silent. He will not show emotion, he will not.

 

“How was it?” Liam asks with a very subtle smirk. One would have two know him well enough to identify it; otherwise, it just looks like an innocuously friendly smile.

 

Of all the people in the world to know of Harry’s absolutely demoralizingly hopeless crush on his best friend, Liam is the only one. In fact, he has known for years. Harry feels very lucky to have confided in him because he’s never been annoying or cruel about it. He gives Harry gentle shoves in Louis’ direction every so often, both literally and figuratively, and it’s nice to have that kind of support even if it’s ultimately useless.

 

So Harry sighs and tries to find the words to say. He knows that if he sorts through the mess in his head and at least shares a little bit with Liam, he’ll feel better.

 

“It was… weird, I guess.”

 

“Good weird or bad weird?”

 

“I don’t know. He kind of, well. He said something kind of insensitive so I fell asleep annoyed by him, which sucked. But Li… being close to him is so nice. I don’t even know how to describe it. It’s just amazing.”

 

“And you really think he doesn’t feel the same way?”

 

“I  _ know _  he doesn’t, Li. It’s not a question.”

 

“Harry, I don’t think-” Liam sighs frustratedly. “I mean, how do you really know?”

 

“I just do, okay? I can see it when he looks at me.”

 

“Harry-”

 

“This is so depressing. Can we please stop talking about it?”

 

“Whatever, fine. If you wanna go through your life thinking you’re unlovable then that’s your choice.”

 

“Shut up, you know that’s not what I’m saying.”

 

And yeah, okay, maybe deep down in the darkest part of his heart, exists the fear of being unlovable. His own dating history would be sufficient evidence to support such a claim. But Harry isn’t cynical about love. In fact, he’s definitely a hopeless romantic. He believes, or rather hopes, that one day he’ll meet his soulmate and every other worry will fade to the background.

 

In terms of his greatest fears, Harry has a whole entire list which he contemplates late at night and wonders when this came to be. Mostly, he fears rejection. He wants acceptance and love from others and is afraid of doing anything that might jeopardize that. Which brings him to his subsequent fear, of failure.

 

He’s afraid of intimacy too; that much is clear by the fact that he’s uncomfortable holding hands with someone, let alone kissing or sleeping with them. The thing is, he wants to be different. He wants to be okay with casual touch. He wants to just lie his head on his friend’s shoulder and not feel weird about it. He’s so envious of people like Louis who don’t seem to mind at all, who kiss and touch and fuck like it’s no big deal at all, nothing to revere.

 

He’s drawn out of his thoughts when he feels warm arms wrapping around his shoulders. Liam squeezes him tight in a friendly hug, and it feels comforting, almost as if Liam knows what he’s thinking about and is actively trying to get him to calm down.

 

“Let me go get you another cup of coffee,” he says eventually, pulling away.

 

Liam returns with a new mug and hands it to Harry. They sit in silence and watch as the day brightens.

  
  
  


♡

  
  
  


Since it’s their first real day in Fort Myers, they decide to take full advantage of the beach and all it offers. By noon, the five of them are trudging across the wide expanse of sand, lugging towels and foldable chairs with them.

 

Louis is the one who chooses the spot where they sit down and settle in. It’s as close to the water as they can get while the sand is still dry, and they have to clear out a bunch of debris before they set down their towels.

 

Harry lathers on the sunscreen because he isn’t in the mood to turn tomato red. On the topic of unattractive ailments, his nose is still ugly bruised from yesterday and his left eye is shadowed with a light purple bruise. Every time Louis looks at him, he cringes like he’s feeling some sort of phantom pain, or perhaps just a bit of creeping guilt.

 

Harry turns his head to the right without thinking about it and is met with the sight of Louis lying flat on his stomach on his towel, his head pillowed on his folded arms. He looks unfairly good—amazingly good—and it physically pains Harry, so he looks away. Still, the image of Louis is branded in his mind even after he lies down on his own towel and closes his eyes.

 

Why do his shorts have to be so short and why does his ass have to look so good? And his smooth tan skin… Harry could get lost in it.

 

He doesn’t, though. At least, he tries not to. Instead of dwelling on his stupid lusty not-love, he slips his earbuds in his ears and hits shuffle on Lana del Rey, his guilty pleasure of four years now. It’s an obsession that most people initially don’t expect of him, but he can’t help it. He feels as though he lives vicariously through her, since most of the time she sings about love, sex, or drugs, none of which he has any experience.

 

The rest of the day is much of the same, lots of sunbathing and trying to keep sand out of the places it objectively shouldn’t be. Harry flips over every half hour in the hopes of getting an even tan, but he prefers to lie on his stomach because it feels significantly more comfortable when the bright Florida sunshine isn’t burning straight through his closed eyelids.

 

He wakes up from an unexpected nap around four o’clock and feels sleepy enough that he decides to cool off in the ocean to wake himself up. Liam and Zayn are nowhere to be found, so he asks Niall where they’re off to and Niall tells him they went for a beach walk but are probably making out in the beach grass or something. It wouldn’t be the first time.

 

“I think I’m gonna swim,” Harry announces. No one reacts, even though it’s obvious both Niall and Louis heard what he said. He rolls his eyes before pulling himself up and striding out towards the water’s ebb and flow against the beach.

 

It’s warm to the touch from a day in the sun, but cool enough that it’s still refreshing. He dips his toes in and decides to wade out, not bothered by the waves which crash against him and splash up his chest. When it’s deep enough, he swims, trying not to be creeped out by the seaweed which tangles itself around his legs, feeling like jellyfish tentacles. Rationally, he knows he would be in a lot more pain if the strings wrapped around his legs belonged to jellyfish, but he just can’t get the image out of his mind.

 

Perhaps it’s less fun alone but he has never really minded being alone.

  
  
  


♡

  
  
  


Later that night, after they’ve returned from dinner at a restaurant called Pinchers Crab Shack, Harry finds himself scared to get in bed with Louis again.

 

He’s afraid they’re going to start arguing again and he doesn’t want that. He not-loves Louis a lot and can’t stand it even when they have just a small disagreement. So he shuffles around and busies himself by doing the most useless and menial tasks imaginable.

 

He takes a shower, too, since he didn’t take one before they left for dinner, which is kind of gross. While standing beneath the spray, he decides to waste as much time as possible in the hopes of Louis being asleep by the time he finishes putzing around.

 

He even gets bored enough while standing in the shower to actually shave his legs, which is something he has never done before. It takes a ton of time, though, and when he’s finished his legs are wonderfully smooth in a way he has never experienced before.

 

Eventually, the water runs cold, uncomfortably so, and he has no choice but to get out and dry off. He takes his time and wonders when he became such a coward. Sleeping in the same bed as his crush should be something fun and exciting rather than nerve wracking.

 

He steps out of the bathroom and walks down the hall quietly just in case Louis is sleeping. It would be a shame to wake him. Instead, he finds Niall already passed out, and Louis lying comfortably, scrolling through his phone.

 

“What took you so long, Hazza? Getting off in the shower?”

 

“What? No,” Harry responds quickly, vaguely horrified. Perhaps he would be less concerned if someone else was asking him. Louis is just too much.

 

Louis just laughs and watches as Harry tentatively crosses the room, wasting time as best he can before he gives up and decides to just suck it up and be brave. For some reason Louis has an aversion to sleeping on the side of the bed closest to the wall, so Harry has to clamber over him in order to get to his spot. He struggles to get under the covers with no help from his best friend, but he manages eventually. When he’s finished moving around a lot, he settles on his back and stares up at the ceiling, his entire body on edge from being so close to the one he desires the most.

 

Unfortunately for Harry’s weak heart which is thudding ridiculously in his chest, Louis turns on his side and scooches close enough that his entire body is pressed up against Harry’s.

 

“How’s your nose?” He asks, breath sweet and minty on Harry’s face. It should be gross that he’s breathing so closely but it’s not, and that’s how Harry knows he’s in too deep.

 

“Fine. I look like a clown. I’ll have no chance when we go out tomorrow, because no one can stand to even look at my face.” They have plans to go out to a bar or a club tomorrow night and get properly smashed. The best part aspect to nightlife is typically flirting and being flirted with, but now that Harry looks like he smashed his face into a glass door, that option is off the table.

 

“That was by design,” Louis jokes, “I need to keep you for myself.”

 

Harry isn’t amused. It hits too close to home. He keeps his eyes trained on the ceiling, refusing to look over to Louis who is attentively watching his face. “Right.”

 

Louis sighs, reaching out and smoothing his palm across Harry’s stomach, right in the space between his ribcage and navel. There’s only a thin layer of soft t-shirt between skin and skin and the intimacy of it makes Harry flinch even though he tries hard not to do so. “What would I do without you?”

 

His musing is rhetorical, of course, but that doesn’t mean Harry doesn’t ponder it.

 

Eventually Niall turns the light out, encasing the room in dark. This time, Harry remembered to keep the sliding door to the balcony open, and the sound of the waves kissing the beach is distant but there.

 

It lulls Harry to sleep with Louis still pressed to him, his small hand resting on his stomach and rubbing back and forth softly.

  
  
  


♡

  
  
  


The next day is much of the same. They get out to the beach earlier and spend all morning and afternoon trying to get tan without burning.

 

Harry swims in the ocean again and this time he manages to convince Louis to swim with him too. Louis is more concerned about the sea creatures they might encounter, but he has no qualms about secretly collecting seaweed in his hands only to dump it all on Harry’s head when he isn’t paying any attention. It gets tangled in his hair and Louis spends the next fifteen minutes picking it out, shrieking at Harry to hold still and be patient.

 

Swimming together is nice because if Harry tries hard enough he can pretend he and Louis are dating or in a relationship. Drifting off to this dream world is comforting but dangerous all the same because sometimes, perhaps when Louis is clinging to his back and ordering him to swim, or play-fighting with him over who splashed who first, it feels as though it’s real. And obviously he knows it’s not but there’s some part of his heart that clings to these moments and stubbornly, desperately refuses to let go.

 

Afterwards, Louis offers to re-apply Harry’s sunscreen. Harry is suspicious because Louis rarely offers to do anything that requires extra work and effort. But he seems adamant and genuine so Harry lies down on his towel tentatively and rests his head on his arms which are folded up in front of him.

 

Louis surprises him by being tender. He essentially gives him a massage under the guise of applying sunscreen. His hands start at the flat of Harry’s upper back, spreading in the lotion which is cool to the touch, and they spread out over the expanse of his back. He kneads the knots out of his shoulders and rubs the bumps of his spine with gentle reverence. His small hands on Harry’s lower back makes Harry squirm, but it feels good so he can’t complain. He doesn’t understand what he did to deserve this but he’s not going to question it if it means he gets Louis’ dainty hands on him.

 

“Want me to do you?”

 

“Yes, please.”

 

Louis is surprisingly docile today, which Harry can’t figure out. Maybe he still feels bad about punching Harry in the face, giving him a bloody nose and a black eye? Nevertheless, Harry gets up on his knees and wait patiently while Louis situates himself on his own towel, lying with his eyes closed.

 

Harry starts at his shoulders, spreading the sunscreen to the backs of his arms and rubbing it in. Louis’ sunkissed skin is hot to the touch and incredibly soft, like silk. Harry feels mesmerized as he massages Louis’ shoulders and upper back, digging his thumbs in to work out the tension and turn his muscles to goo, returning the favor.

 

Louis groans when it feels good but is otherwise quiet, perhaps sleepy. Harry would lying next to him to take a nap but for now he moves his hands lower, getting gentler as he works the lotion into his more sensitive lower back. He can’t resist slipping his fingers an inch beneath the waistline of his swim trunks, reaching the paler skin that sees the sun less often.

 

He’s tan all over, though—Harry knows, because he’s seen Louis naked on a few rare occasions he tries not to think about, like the one time they went skinny dipping in the river, or when Louis forgot to lock the bathroom door when he was getting in the shower. Maybe he sunbathes naked when he isn’t around people, to avoid the tan lines that would cheapen his porn videos. Or maybe he doesn’t, and Harry is just crazy, and a hallucinator with a fetish for his best friend. It makes him feel creepy, like he’s taking advantage.

 

“Can you get the backs of my legs too?” Louis asks, voice covered slightly by the waves and the wind. Sunlight is beating down heavy around them but it feels as though the wind carries it away; at least, it detracts from the heat.

 

Harry realizes his hands have been still on the small of Louis’ back for too long and he pulls them away, squeezing out more sunscreen and steeling himself to begin rubbing the backs of Louis’ thighs. He figures he should’ve started at the ankles and worked his way up; it feels too immediate to be this close to something more intimate but Louis doesn’t seem to mind or even notice.

 

Harry does his thighs and wonders what it would be like to have permission to move his hands just a little bit higher. He doesn’t let the thoughts of something more distract him, though, because the sight of Louis’ legs on top of the soft noises that keep slipping from his mouth are enough to fuel Harry’s daydreams for months.

 

He tickles the backs of his knees and massages his calves, thinking of how Louis does the same for him whenever he’s complaining about being too sore from a long run or a hard workout. His hands lingers on his ankles, fingers latching around and holding them gently, stroking the triangle tattoo reverently. It’s one of Harry’s favorites.

 

When he realizes it’s quiet, he looks up again to find Louis asleep, a peaceful expression on his face.

  
  
  


♡

  
  
  


They go out that night and get drunk. Harry meets a boy he likes enough to consider kissing him.

 

They escape outside to stand in the warm evening air, the sun already down and the sky a dark abyss above them. Harry feels tipsy and his vision is blurry but there are bubbles in his veins which make him feel as if he’s floating like a balloon. The man he’s with seems endeared, laughing at Harry’s silliness even though he’s not trying to be silly. Harry is enamored by the beauty of his blurry face, but he doesn’t wish to be sober enough to actually see it in its full clarity.

 

Alcohol is his liquid courage but it isn’t enough to stop him from chickening out when the man leans in to kiss him. Harry presses his lips together tightly, rolling them inwards like he’s protecting himself from any intrusion. His body closes off, shoulders hunching, arms going out to push the guy away. All the while, he apologizes for being so skittish.

 

“Everything alright?” The man asks, kind and patient as ever. He’s taller than Harry, causing him to look up slightly to shylly meet his eyes.

 

“Yeah, yeah, sorry. I, um- Sorry- Can we try that again?”

 

Suddenly determined, he feels desperate to get his first kiss out of the way so he can get over the goddamn mountain which has been an obstacle his entire life. He’s so close, but the namelessly beautiful man approaches his neck first, kissing up from the crook of it to his jaw. It’s sweet and soft and slow. Unbelievably patient and understanding for a one-time hookup. Harry doesn’t deserve such attention but he melts into it anyways. It doesn’t necessarily feel wrong, but he can’t help but wish the man spending so much care on him was a certain boy with blue eyes and warm summer skin instead.

 

Kisses trail from his ear to jaw to chin and back again, as if the guy can tell Harry isn’t ready for a real kiss yet. He may never will be. This goes on for a while and it feels nice, Harry’s nerves tingling pleasantly. Hands are stroking his waist and that feels nice too but it also makes him kind of panicky.

 

The man must feel it because he retreats again, pulling away slightly but not enough to make Harry feel cold.

 

“You sure you’re okay, darling?”

 

For a second Harry imagines himself surging forward and pressing their lips together in a forceful kiss. It’s tempting, if only for the sake of swallowing his fear and getting it out of the way. The second time has to be better, right? At least, that’s what he’s thinking.

 

But he can’t do it. He just can’t. It doesn’t feel wrong, but it doesn’t feel right either. He’s been afraid to kiss or be kissed for years, and to break that fear right now, tonight, against a crumbling brick wall, illuminated by city lights, feels unceremoniously disappointing. It wouldn’t be bad but something in his heart cracks at the thought of sharing his first kiss with a stranger who will never know how special it is to him.

 

“I can’t do this. I’m sorry. You’re lovely. I just- I can’t.”

 

The man smiles kindly at him and with the hint of an unspoken apology he opens his arms as an invitation for a hug. Harry falls into it easily, partly desperate for comfort from a stranger.

 

They part ways, and the sky doesn’t split in half. The stars don’t come crashing down. The wind still smells like sea and the bubbles still lift Harry through the air, floating him towards a more comfortable intoxication.

  
  
  


♡

  
  
  


That night, so late it’s considered morning, Harry unkissed and Louis unknowing slip into bed together. Both are intoxicated.

 

They fall asleep far apart, and inch closer during the hours before light.

 

In the morning, their legs are entangled, their fingers entwined.

 

Harry opens his eyes first, and slips out without waking anyone in the room.

  
  
  


♡

  
  
  


Two days later, a storm comes in.

 

Niall turns the TV channel to the local news and they the radar in awe. Heavy rain falls outside and is blown hard against the windows and doors by the strength of the raging wind. It’s difficult to see, but the waves are large and crashing powerfully against the shore. The beach is void of human life, a wasteland caused by everyone seeking shelter.

 

As long as Harry can remember, he has always been entranced by storms. There’s something poetic about them, about their power and tumultuous destruction. The sheer force of nature that drives them.

 

It changes their sunny vacation mood to something more lethargic but simultaneously on edge.

 

Liam and Zayn sit close together on the couch, both dedicatedly and silently sketching their own inspiration with graphite that smudges over the sides of their hands. Niall is focused on the weather station, listening intently to the meteorologists and reciting occasional facts he finds interesting or overwhelming. Harry sits down on the floor riding beside the sliding glass doors and watches the rain pour down heavy even as the wind pushes it laterally. Louis joins him, sitting close enough that their shoulders touch unapologetically.

 

Louis rests his head on Harry’s shoulder. They drink coffee together, sharing a cup between the two of them and taking turns sipping from it. Harry is the one who gets up to refill it.

 

“Are you cold?” Harry asks eventually, when it seems Louis keeps scooting closer to him for the sake of body heat. Whenever he’s holding the coffee mug, he wraps his small hands around it entirely as if to warm them.

 

He’s surprised when Louis actually admits, “A little.”

 

“Go put on some warmer clothes then.”

 

“I didn’t bring anything more than t-shirts, really. It’s Florida, I thought it would be hot.”

 

“Come here then, let’s find you something warm to wear.”

 

They venture to their room and rummage through Harry’s suitcase together. Unlike Louis, Harry came prepared by bringing two hoodies and a fair amount of joggers. He hands the softest to Louis and watches him change, staying quiet but wondering how they can be so comfortable with each other like this.

 

“Did you go running today?” Louis asks, making conversation. He looks adorable like this, swallowed up in Harry’s hoodie, looking perfectly cuddly and soft.

 

“I didn’t.” He folds his arms over his chest and stands there, waiting for god knows what.

 

“Are you still gonna work out?”

 

“Yeah, I guess.”

 

“Okay.”

 

Louis sits on their bed and Harry ends up doing a few sets of bodyweight exercises, like lunges and squats. He does planks, crunches, and the rest of his ab routine too. Push ups are last because he likes them the most, in a weird way. It sinks in when he’s thirty push ups in that Louis has been watching him the entire time and he’s not entirely sure how he feels about that.

 

“Like what you see?” He asks eventually, because he just can’t stand the silence anymore, the quiet which is only broken by his own breathing.

 

He does ten more before Louis answers, ignoring him and asking a question of his own. “Would you still be able to do one if I sat on your back?”

 

Harry keeps his eyes on the carpet in front of him, brows furrowing. “Yeah, sure.”

 

“Really?” He sounds surprised.

 

“Go ahead.”

 

Louis approaches him and sits down on his upper back like he’s unconvinced. Harry continues on as if another one hundred fifty pounds wasn’t just added to the exercise.

 

“Wow, okay.”

 

“Were you doubting me?”

 

“I mean, yeah…”

 

Harry laughs a little. He’s on sixty right now. Maybe he’ll stop at one hundred.

 

When he finishes, Louis hops off him and goes back to the bed. “I have to admit, that was pretty hot.”

 

He knows what Louis is talking about but he grimaces and jokes, “What, sitting on my back?”

 

“Yeah, right,” Louis responds, full of sarcasm. Then he sobers up. “No, I mean the fact that you’re so strong.”

 

The wind surges outside, rain pounding against the windows.

 

“I can’t believe you’re still a virgin,” Louis adds, because apparently he has no filter.

 

Harry glares at him and goes back to doing crunches.

 

“I mean seriously, H, I don’t get it. You’re hot. You’re nice. You’re charismatic. It’s the perfect storm.”

 

“I’m just not as comfortable around people as you seem to be, sorry.”

 

“But why? You’re plenty comfortable around me.”

 

“We’ve been friends for years.”

 

“Doesn’t matter, it still counts.”

 

“I dunno, Lou. I don’t wanna talk about it.”

 

“Okay, fine.” There’s a pause. “I’m tired. Wanna take a nap with me?”

 

Harry scowls. It’s like Louis knows he has a crush on him which is tearing him apart. “No thanks, I’ll pass.”

 

“C’mon H, cuddle with me and keep me warm.”

 

Despite his reluctance and strong desire for self-preservation, Harry ends up getting into bed and even curling himself around Louis, “keeping him warm.” He decides to just fuck it all and wraps his arms around him too. Louis lays his hand on top of Harry’s which is pressed to his chest, and they fall asleep like that, with the storm outside creating a lullaby to lull them to sleep.

  
  
  


♡

  
  
  


The next day, the weather is eerily calm. The beach is full of people again and if it weren’t for the slightly damp sand it would feel as though the storms never happened.

 

None of them feel like going back to the beach so they try to come up with activities to do instead. Louis suggests the aquarium and Harry feels his heart stutter in his chest. The aquarium back home is where they first met.

 

They met at the ocean in a way, so it makes sense for Harry to fall in love more than he already has at the ocean too.

  
  
  


♡

  
  
  


They met in an unconventional way that set the tone for their friendship for years to come.

 

On a Wednesday during late afternoon, the aquarium was largely empty. Harry liked it best this way because he could observe each exhibit and complete his tasks for class without being bumped into by running toddlers or being disturbed by babies screaming and crying.

 

Harry was studying one specific tank, marking down all the different species in the habitat and jotting down descriptions and observations to complete his weekly oceanology class journal. He heard a ruckus a few tanks away and was annoyed until he listened in more and realized something was wrong.

 

A group of men were harassing a man around Harry’s age, who appeared to be alone. Ultimately it became clear that they recognized him from whichever porn website they watched and they weren’t going to let the man go until he did something for them, whatever that entailed. The man kept trying to brush them off but they followed him around, making increasingly crude comments.

 

Harry looked around this section of the aquarium and found it void of anyone except him and this group that was currently harassing someone. Sometimes when Harry thinks about it, he considers the fact that he might have a bit of a saviour complex, but mostly he prefers to believe that anyone in his position would’ve done the same.

 

So Harry approached the group with all the confidence and nonchalance he could muster. He went right up to the man who was being harassed and said something along the lines of “There you are!” pretending to be good friends with him. He threw his arm over his shoulder and guided him away, towards the next exhibit. Like,  _ I’ve been looking for you everywhere. Let’s get away from these creeps. _

 

For a horrid moment it seemed as though they weren’t going to give up and they were going to target Harry too. But eventually they decided to leave, bristeling bitterly. Harry kept his arm on his shoulder and walked him quickly through the maze of exhibits and rooms in order to get them as far away from the harassers as possible.

 

“Thanks for that,” the man commented when they entered the shark room, which was wholly void of human life, and slowed their walking pace to something much more lackadaisical.

 

They stopped completely. Harry let his arm fall away and rocked back on his heels. “Not a problem. You okay?”

 

“Yeah, fine. Sorry. That was fucking annoying.” His hands were shaking.

 

Harry reached out for his wrist gently in question and said, “Let’s sit down, yeah? Just for a minute.”

 

“Yeah, okay.” The man let Harry guide him towards the wide stairs which gave people the opportunity to sit on them and view the sharks.

 

Then, without the commotion and worry, Harry really got a good look at him and discovered how beautiful he really was. Harry wasn’t surprised people paid to watch videos of him. Tan skin, auburn hair, and blue eyes that looked straight into you. His body was curvy, plentiful in the places that mattered like his thighs and bottom, and strong. Harry imagined setting a hand on the curve of his waist or even just running his fingers through his hair and there was something about the fantasy that calmed him, like maybe it was meant to be. He had never felt that way before.

 

They introduced themselves and Harry then knew his name, and where he was from, and what he was doing there, and why the men were harassing him. It was nice to sit there and listen to the soft way he spoke, to see the reflections of the water scintillating on his face as the sharks swam languidly in circles.

 

They realized they went to the same school, and decided they liked talking to each other enough that they should swap phone numbers to meet up sometime, so they did.

 

A month later they were sitting in a coffee shop somewhere, laughing over stupid jokes, and holding their coffee cups a little too tightly. Harry was done for.

 

(He didn’t know Louis was too.)

  
  
  


♡

  
  
  


At the aquarium, they lose the others because Harry stays too long at each tank and Louis doesn’t want to leave him behind.

 

It’s pleasantly empty and it reminds Harry of the day they first met, how calm he felt as he listened to Louis’ soft voice while the sharks swam and the water glistened. They both seem to be reminiscing because they’re sitting in a dark corner looking at these tiny jellyfish that glow in the dark when Louis says, “I’m so glad I met you, Harry.”

 

Harry is startled enough that the first thing that comes out of his mouth is “Why?”

 

He nearly slaps a hand over his mouth, expecting Louis to respond with something joking or rude. Instead, what he says is genuine.

 

“I just feel like I’ll never meet anyone who’s as nice to me as you are.”

 

Harry is startled. “Really?”

 

“Yeah,” Louis admits. “You set the standards so high, I’m scared no one else will ever meet them.”

 

“Oh.” He’s not sure how he feels about this, if it’s a good thing or a bad thing. He tries not to think about the fact that Louis is essentially saying  _ you ruined me for other people. _

 

“We’re really similar, too.”

 

“Are we, though?”

 

Louis rolls his eyes and nods, looking back at the jellyfish. It’s so dark that Harry can hardly make out Louis’ face but he manages.

 

“We’re similar in the ways that matter, and different in the ways that make us better.”

 

He’s right, of course. Harry and Louis are similar because they share the same values: family, love, helping others… The list goes on. They’re different in the ways they compliment each other, like physical attributes or even the deeper aspects like their fears: intimacy versus commitment.

 

It feels as though they were made for each other and Harry usually tries not to think about that because it always brings him to his great overwhelming feeling of not-love. The fact that Louis is bringing it up is something new and Harry can’t help but hope that maybe he feels the same way, like they were made for each other…

 

“Harry?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Can I kiss you?”

 

He expects to be taken aback, shocked, worried, anxious, any or all of the above. But the anxiety doesn’t come. He leans his back against the wall, takes his eyes away from the jellyfish to meet the shadows of Louis’ face. He nods, wondering why it feels so easy.

 

Louis dips in slowly and invades Harry’s personal space like he so often does. This time, he comes closer. They’re sitting together on the ledge in front of the jellyfish tank, resting against the glass. Harry’s knees are up in front of his chest but Louis gently presses them open and slips in between them, resting his hands on Harry’s shoulders for balance.

 

Maybe Harry should say something about never having kissed anyone before but he might ruin the moment and he thinks it doesn’t matter anyways. Louis will be tender with him regardless.

 

It isn’t a friendly gesture. It’s romantic. Louis squeezes his shoulders and then leans in, kissing his cheek first before pressing their lips together.

 

It’s what Harry expected but perhaps better in a way, soft and warm and tingly. He always thought he wouldn’t know what to do but it’s something that seems more innate than anything. He sets a hand on the curve of Louis’ waist to steady him and brings another up to caress his cheek. Louis leads the kiss, and kisses him hard. They get lost in each other.

 

All the while, the ocean watches beside them.

  
  
  


♡

  
  
  


Harry feels weird for the rest of the day, like his heart just won’t settle. The others don’t know that anything is different. Louis holds his hand and guides him through everything.

 

“Do you like me, Harry?” Louis asks later in the evening, when it’s just the two of them on the beach.

 

They’re taking a sunset walk but the air is cool enough for them to be wearing hoodies. Louis is wearing Harry’s again and the sight of him settles something deep in Harry’s heart. Their feet are wet from sea water as the waves crash up against their legs. Louis is illuminated by the sunset, and he looks godly.

 

It’s an ambiguous question but Harry knows what he’s asking, so he nods.

 

“How long have you liked me?”

 

“A while.”

 

There’s a lightness in the air, a warmth to it that encompasses them. A sweetness, like final realization. Like the earth sighing happily because they’re where they’re supposed to be at last.

 

“Do you like me?” Harry asks eventually. His words are carried in the wind.

 

Louis smiles at him gently, taking his hands. “I thought you’d never ask.”

  
  
  


♡

  
  
  


Louis, as a rule, is audacious. He is recklessly bold in defiance of conventions, propriety, and sometimes law. His brazen disobedience is often harmless. It makes him fun and exciting.

 

Harry is the opposite. He accepts societal conventions and follows rules because he believes they were made for a reason. Not that he doesn’t enjoy a good act of rebellion every now and again, but he generally doesn’t like to take risks.

 

Despite his physical presence, Harry is meek and submissive or compliant when dealing with others. He’s humble in spirit and manner and prefers not to be in the spotlight.

 

Louis somehow still manages to convince him to trespass on a private beach.

 

It’s only hours after they last kissed, and now they’ve been walking along the beach for nearly an hour when they stumbled upon a sign that says “PRIVATE BEACH - NO TRESPASSING - VIOLATORS WILL BE PROSECUTED.”

 

“Time to turn around,” Harry muses, already backtracking and not even considering the fact that Louis might not be following him.

 

“Hazza, really? You’re gonna let one little sign stop you?”

 

“I mean, yeah…”

 

Louis sighs. “You poor thing. Come here.”

 

So, to some extent, Harry values conventions. But he can’t say no to Louis. It’s his biggest downfall.

 

The sun is almost beyond the horizon now, and they have to walk back a long way. There’s no chance they’ll be home by dark. Louis grabs Harry’s hand and tugs him to the other side of the sign. Harry goes willingly. They walk a while past large beach houses. The private property makes sense.

 

“Let’s go swimming,” Louis suggests, already pulling off his (Harry’s) hoodie and tossing it unceremoniously to the sand.

  
“Seriously?”

 

“Why not?”

 

“Why can’t we swim a little ways back where it’s actually legal?”

 

“It’s more exciting this way. Besides, you need to learn to live a little.”

 

“Shut up. I hate you.”

 

“You don’t, though. You lovvvvve me,” Louis sings, stepping out of the rest of his clothes until he’s only in boxers. His body is gorgeous and Harry doesn’t have the willpower to stop himself from staring.

 

Harry folds his arms over his chest but makes no effort to cover up the fact that his eyes are grazing over all of Louis’ curves. “You’re ridiculous.”

 

“I’m trying to help you. Now get naked, please.”

 

“Nah, I’d rather just enjoy the view from here.” The shocked and vaguely horrified look on Louis’ face is enough to make Harry smirk. He’s not sure he’s ever said anything so suggestive to Louis but it feels nice.

 

He recovers quickly though. “Fine, suit yourself.” With one sassy look over his shoulder, Louis turns around and waltzes right into the surf. The waves are calming down now that the sun is down, so they lap gently at his thighs as he gets deeper. Harry watches and wonders when this came to be his life. He sits down in the sand and enjoys the moment.

 

A little while later Louis flings his soggy boxers at Harry who catches them miraculously before they can hit him in the face.

 

“What is wrong with you?” He calls out, laughing.

 

Louis just blows him a flirty kiss and keeps swimming. Over his shoulder, he says, “You should join me!”   
  


“What’s in it for me?”

 

“Is my body not enough?”

 

“Is that what you’re offering?”   
  


“Why don’t you come and find out?”

 

Harry sighs exasperatedly and strips out of his clothes, leaving them in a messy pile on the sand beside Louis’. He’s feigning annoyance but he can’t help but smile as he steps out of his underwear with a confidence he has never imagined himself ever possessing. Louis stands still with the water up to his chest, watching.

 

Harry’s body has always been something sacred to himself, something private. It still is, and always will be, so there’s something special about sharing it with Louis like this.

 

He jumps into the sea with Louis cheering him on. They meet with the ocean waves kissing their sides, and Louis beckons him forward.

 

“Hold me,” he says, and Harry does, pressing their bodies together in a hug. He holds Louis close, wrapping his arms around his back and pressing his hands flat against his skin, encompassing him completely.

 

The fact that they’re content just being close to each other is enough of a sign to Harry that this is meant to last. Louis, who has the sexual prowess of a porn star, because he  _ is _  a porn star, feels comfortable and even sated enough with just simple skin-to-skin contact, their bodies pressed together. Louis, who makes no move to do anything else but be held by Harry, is saying without words that this is enough for him.

 

It’s enough for Harry, too. But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t want more.

 

“Lou?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Can I touch you?”

 

He feels Louis smile in the crook of his neck. “Go for it, babe.”

 

Harry keeps one hand pressed to Louis’ other back, and lets the one that was resting on his lower back travel down further. A handful of Louis’ bum feels nice in his palm and it’s something he’s fantasized about before but obviously never acted on before now. Louis encourages him by scooching closer and moaning quietly against his neck.

 

Harry runs his fingers down the back of Louis’ thigh before hooking them on the crook of his knee and hitching his leg up around his waist. Louis pulls his other leg up too and then he’s clinging to him as the water sways around them and it feels right, it feels so right, especially when he kisses all over Harry’s neck and then reaches up for a kiss.

 

“Harry, baby?”

 

Harry gasps breathlessly as he pulls away. “Yeah?”

 

“As much as I’d love to cross being fucked in the ocean off my bucket list, I don’t think it’s a setting that’s very conducive to your first time.”

 

Harry laughs. “What do you suggest we do, then?”

 

“Let’s go home. I’ll suck you off in the shower.”

 

Harry can’t really say no to that.

 

They pass the no trespassing sign on the way back, and this time they’re holding hands. Louis was right, not that Harry will ever admit it. But it really is more momentous when there’s a threat of danger.

  
  
  


♡

  
  
  


Harry is experiencing Louis’ skills firsthand when he remembers something that makes him feel like he could afford a little honesty.

 

He still doesn’t know where to put his hands, isn’t sure if he’s allowed to touch Louis or not, so they hover over his head and then fall back to his sides when Louis takes him particularly deep. Noticing his hesitation like the good attentive lover he is, he grabs Harry’s hands and sets it on his head. Harry follows the nonverbal instructions and tangles his fingers in his wet hair, stroking it away from his face.

 

When Harry comes, his knees buckle, but Louis keeps him upright with a firm grasp on his hips like he knew all along that would happen.

 

“You were my first kiss,” Harry gasps in a whisper, deciding on radical honesty. Stars are dancing in his vision and the steam swirls around him like fog. He feels like he might pass out from overstimulation. Everything is too much, especially Louis’ wide blue eyes looking up at him.

 

“Was I really?” He asks conversationally, stroking Harry’s thighs.

 

“Yeah, you were.”

 

“You’re lucky, then. That was a pretty good first kiss. Worth the wait?”

 

Harry squeezes his eyes shut when Louis starts mouthing at his hips again, giving him kisses all over. “Definitely.”

  
  
  


♡

  
  
  


Louis is almost always anxious, jittery, and moving around. The bountiful energy is just part of who he is. But Harry has always been the only one to ever calm him down with just a simple look or touch.

 

“Lou, relax. You’re making me tired just looking at you.”

 

“Don’t look at me, then,” he scowls, continuing to fidget.

 

Harry sighs and leans back on the couch. They’re going out to dinner tonight but waiting for the others to get ready. It’s their last night in Fort Myers. Harry spreads his legs a little wider and pats his lap. “Come here.”

 

Louis rolls his eyes and acts like he isn’t going to obey, but he does eventually. He crosses the room and sits down gingerly on Harry’s lap before curling into him. Harry rubs his back, dragging his nails lazily across his t-shirt because he knows how good it feels.

 

“Everything alright?”

 

“I just really don’t wanna go back home.”

 

“Hmm,” Harry hums, feeling privileged to be the only person to ever truly see Louis vulnerable. There’s a surprisingly soft side to him whenever he’s tired or needy, and Harry cherishes the moments he gets to see it because they aren’t very frequent, but they sure are lovely. “Well, we won’t have the beach. But we’ll have more opportunities alone. That’s something to look forward to, right?”

 

Louis rests his head on Harry’s shoulder. “Will you still want to be close to me even when we get back?”

 

Harry stills from where he’s rubbing circles on the smooth skin of Louis’ hip. “What do you mean?”

 

“It kind of feels like just a vacation thing. Like we’re gonna walk off the plane and go back to just being friends.”

 

“You know I don’t want that, though.” He thinks about it, and then amends, “I thought you knew I want you long-term.”

 

“Do you, though?”

 

“I haven’t made myself clear?”

 

“You never said it.”

 

“What do you want me to say?”

 

“Tell me what you want.”

 

Harry bites his lip, a little nervous. “I want to be your boyfriend.”

 

"What about Sebastian or whatever his name was?"

 

"I called him a few nights ago and said I couldn't do it."

 

"What? Really? What did he say?"

 

"I feel awful about it, but he said he saw it coming and that it's fine. I just... I can't make myself like someone I don't like."

 

"Okay..." Louis sighs. "I'm afraid you're going to do the exact same thing to me."

 

"The difference is that I like you though, Lou. You're the reason I could never like Seb. Because I like you too much."

 

“Not just because you want to fuck me?”

 

“Where is that coming from? No, of course not.”

 

“So you don’t want to fuck me, then?”

 

Harry squeezes his hip, smiling into his shoulder. “I do. I want everything with you. Which, last time I checked, means more than sex, so.”

 

“Are you sure?"

 

“Why are you trying so hard to get me to say no?”

 

“I don’t believe you.”

 

“Why don’t you believe me?”

 

“Because you’re way too good for me.”

 

“You’re such a liar. Let’s just give it a shot, alright? Can we agree on that?”

 

“I guess.”

 

Louis is more subdued that night, when they go out for dinner. The five of them happily reminisce on their vacation memories as they eat seafood and drink enough alcohol to get them comfortably buzzed.

 

Harry sits next to him and keeps his hand on his thigh, rubbing it soothingly. The others don’t officially know that anything has happened between them but it’s not like they’re hiding it. Liam keeps giving Harry knowing looks, to which Harry just smirks and strokes Louis’ thigh some more.

 

Later, when they’re all tired and slipping into bed, Louis lets Harry climb on top of him and press him into the mattress, quietly kissing him hard.

 

They have an entire future together, an entire lifetime. There’s time to figure everything out, even though Harry has understood how he felt ever since he decided to refer to it as not-love. Not enough has changed to make him more willing to admit it, except perhaps the fact that he has Louis beside him now makes him a bit less afraid.

 

Neither one of them says anything for the sake of not disturbing Niall, so they press their words into kisses, and kiss each other with fervent meaning and significance. Each touch is reverent.

 

_ I’m so glad I met you, _  they say.

 

_ I’m so glad we found each other. _

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

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> 
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> 
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